


In Plain Sight

by Funkspiel



Series: A Collection of Odd Events (Tumblr Requests) [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Body Modification, Body Worship, Breast Growth, Cock Shrink, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Genderfuck, Graves Gets Turned Into A Woman, Graves is not a fan of his new body, M/M, MTF TG, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Touching, Rape/Non-con Elements, Someone Save Percival Graves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 13:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10219733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkspiel/pseuds/Funkspiel
Summary: After finding out he’s expected to attend a donor’s ball, Grindelwald decides its nigh time that MACUSA’s famous bachelor arrives in style with a beautiful woman on his arm. Cue him making Graves into the perfect woman - eager to have his captive so close to rescue, and yet so far away.





	

_Didn't even really wanna go_  
But if you get me out, you get a show  
There's so many bodies on the floor, so  
Baby, we should go and add some more  
Are you down, d-d-down, d-d-down, d-d-down, down, down?

 

“I think we’ll do something new tonight, pet,” Grindelwald said, admiring his stolen face in the bathroom mirror as he delicately ran Graves’ straight razor up the long, familiar stretch of his neck. He had a habit of leaving the bathroom door open so he could speak with Graves as he got ready for work or for bed. So bound and annoyed as he was on the bed, Graves could still see Grindelwald easily. That didn’t mean he had to look, though – which is why Graves generally focused on the painting to the right of his bed every time they did this. Just to peeve his captor.

“Oh?” Graves asked, tone utterly bored. He had long since stopped trying to physically force himself free from the enchanted cuffs that bound him to the headboard. Instead, he just let them hang at his sides, his back pressed against the elegant wood, legs splayed ahead of him.

“Quite. I don’t know if you’d recall since it’s been so long since you last saw your planner, pet,” Grindelwald goaded, “But you’ve been invited to something rather special tonight. Which means that _I’ve_ been invited to something rather special tonight.”

Graves frowned, mind automatically going through the calendar in his head, trying to remember. When he looked up, it was to the sight of his own eyes watching him in the mirror – grinning. Waiting to see if he’d figured it out.

“The donor’s ball for your department, dearest,” Grindelwald said, his lips pulling back into a grin that made Graves’ shudder. Up until recently, he had never seen such a look on his own face before.

“Wonderful,” Graves said blandly. He had learned long ago that speaking with any sort of emotion only fed Grindelwald’s interest in conversation. If he spoke with minimal engagement, he was usually minimally engaged. But he couldn’t help but feel the hair on the back of his neck come to a stark stand, warning bells tingling. “You’ll enjoy it. It’s tortuously boring – and I know how you oh so love torture. You’ll fit right in.”

“But dearest, it won’t be boring,” Grindelwald said as he washed away the final remnants of cream from his jaw and blotted it dry, hands searching for any imperfections. “Not with you on my arm to keep me company.”

Graves felt his spine surge up to attention, suddenly straight against the headboard.

“You can’t be serious,” Graves spat, unable to mind his tone. “Are you quite done with wearing my skin, then? Ready for this to be over?”

Already Graves’ mind was whirling. If Grindelwald was finally revealing his farce to MACUSA, he must have found whatever it was that he was looking for. He must be ready to strike, to—

He jerked from his thoughts when Grindelwald suddenly spun to face him, one lean side pressed against the doorframe of the bathroom – smiling at him as though fondly amused.

“Not quite. But soon, pet.”

Graves narrowed his gaze at him.

“I don’t follow.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Grindelwald said, then approached the bed in slow, measured footsteps. And when he reached its end, he didn’t stop. With one long leg and then another, he climbed onto the bed until he had Graves’ legs in a straddle – looming over him with a cat-like grin. “What I have planned… well it suffices to say it’ll be an experience for the both of us.”

Graves could only watch, fists fiercely clenched, as two large hands – _his fucking hands –_ reached up to part the unbuttoned halves of his dress shirt, the only garment the madman had left him with, and run down the length of his sides before settling at his narrow hips. And before he could even register it, those hands were hot – _burning hot_ – and pressing, molding, stroking. His skin began to ache, his bones began to burn. He wriggled, an angry growl in his throat as he tried to dislodge the man in his lap.

“What are you— _Mercy Lewis_!” Graves gasped, eyes wide as he watched his own hips begin to grow and spread beneath Grindelwald’s hands. “Stop!”

“I’ll have you by my side tonight, pet,” Grindelwald purred, shaping his waist into a graceful hourglass figure far more pronounced than it had any right to be – even if Graves wasn’t by nature _male._ When the shape of his sides was finally deemed acceptable, Grindelwald merely moved his hands in an elegant sweep to caress over the hard edges of Graves’ abdomen, softening it into something gentler. Beneath his thumb, Graves’ treasure trail disappeared.

And for the first time during his captivity, Graves felt the beginning of a very _real_ terror begin to creep into his bones. Torture he could handle. Mental attacks, magical bindings, r-rape. He could handle it. He could bite his cheek and outlast it. Those things ended.

But this…

 _No, no, no_.

Against the headboard, Graves’ bindings rattled from his struggles – glowing bright as they greedily swallowed the magic he couldn’t stop himself from summoning.

“D-don’t!” Graves snarled, teeth bared as those hands moved up and up, thumbs brushing at his nipples, rubbing them until they spread a little wider. “Stop!”

“But dearest,” Grindelwald crooned, bending to mouth at his captive’s growing nipples, fingers pressing deeper as the tissue beneath began to ache and burn and swell. With a long lick to the little nub, Grindelwald looked up at Graves and grinned. “It would mean certain scandal if a man of your linage and position were to appear without a female companion. I mean, I can choose some stranger if you’d prefer it. Perhaps a friend? A co-worker? That Goldstein woman is quite lovely, after all. And then after, I could –“

“No!”

“That’s what I thought,” Grindelwald said, teeth pearly white as he leered at Graves knowingly. “You know, you don’t have to pretend to fight me, dearest. You don’t need my threats to have an excuse to just _enjoy yourself_.”

“I. Am not. Enjoying. This,” Graves snarled, furious and frustrated that Grindelwald just kept taking his words and spinning them against him.

“You will,” Grindelwald promised as he kneaded at Graves’ firm chest, molding his pecs into two soft mounds that grew and grew until they well surpassed the sort of cleavage Graves had hoped the man would be satisfied with. By the time he stopped, Grindelwald could fill each of his palms with their hefty weight. And when he gently squeezed, thumbs brushing at his nipples all the while, Graves couldn’t suppress the shiver that rolled down his spine.

Grindelwald grinned, pleased.

“Perfect.”

Hands ran up from there, smoothing his collarbone into something small and delicate and hollow before gliding up to soften his neck. Beneath those burning fingers, Graves felt more than saw his Adam’s apple fade away into something delicate and unnoticeable. Thumbs pressed and stroked at his jaw, burning away stubble and rubbing away the chiseled line of his jaw and cheeks until something smoother, gentler, softer emerged beneath.

Fingers wove into his hair and Graves could only close his eyes and try to bare it as his scalp awoke into a blaze of magic, his hair suddenly lengthening until it fell well past his shoulders.

“Stop,” Graves murmured, weaker now, nearly pleading – only to fall silent with a short little gasp when he realized that Grindelwald’s attention at his neck had done more than change the way it looked. It had changed the way he sounded, too.

His eyes began to burn.

“Ssh, ssh, ssh, pet,” Grindelwald cooed, nearly kindly, as he brushed a stray lock of long hair behind Graves’ ear. “It’s almost over.”

Hands at his thighs, his calves, even the arches of his feet – smoothing and compelling and urging his body into creamy skin and plush curves and long legs. The magic travelled up now without Grindelwald’s touch, and Graves could feel it when it reached his hands; making them shrink, fingers thinning into pianist-like elegance. For a brief moment, he hoped his wrists would shrink enough to slip free of his cuffs – but the leather merely tightened with him, following his form like an eager second skin. Graves knocked his head back against the headboard and let out a frustrated, broken little cry.

He kept his eyes up and on the ceiling as those hands moved past his crotch, past where Graves had his legs clenched tight as if that would protect his last vestige of manhood, and finally settle to cup his ass. Graves blinked – _he had forgotten about that_ – until that heat began to permeate his cheeks, encouraging them to grow and swell and fill the curve of Grindelwald’s palms, lifting him imperceptibly from the bed.

Graves began to shake his head, slow at first, then fiercely – lips raw and swollen where he bit them. When he closed his eyes shut, something warm rolled free from their corners. He was crying, breath hitching despite how he tried to hide it. Grindelwald leaned forward to brush his lips against the pale line of Graves’ throat as he cooed, “Sssh, pet. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

And he did have him. He had him by _the balls_ , hands hot and tingling as they fondled him. Graves began to whimper as he felt them raise and shrink and burn, until their weight was gone completely. Graves could taste blood in his mouth.

“I have you, dearest,” Grindelwald purred. “Almost done.”

His cock was next. When Grindelwald’s hand finally wrapped around it, Graves couldn’t help but thrust his ass into the bed, attempting to pull away. But it didn’t help anything, Grindelwald’s hand just followed him until he had nowhere else to go – stroking and burning and rubbing his thumb down demandingly against the jut of his cockhead until the length began to recede inch by inch.

“You’ll have such a lovely little snatch when we’re through, pet. No more cumbersome cock. Not that you use it lately anyway. No need for lube, not after this. You’ll body will just _know_ , it’ll just be _ready_ for me.; so much more receptive than before. And oh, how your men will swoon when they see you. They’ll wonder if they can steal you away from MACUSA’s most notorious bachelor. And the ladies – how they’ll envy you. They’ll be entranced by the weight of your breasts and the curve of your waist and they’ll wish they were you, my dear. You’ll be on the tip of everyone’s tongue – and after the dance is done, you’ll be on the tip of mine.”

Distracted as he was by the feeling of his manhood dwindling away, he didn’t even notice when a seam spread across the soft stretch of his perineum. It wasn’t until inquisitive fingers were exploring in places that shouldn’t exist, going deeper than they should be able to go, that Graves realized with a wet gasp that he was now sporting a rather lovely little vagina.

The hands pulled back, and just like that, Grindelwald was off the bed and standing at its foot, admiring his handy work.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, pride glimmering in his eyes. “You’ll look lovely on my arm tonight, pet.”

“Fuck you,” Graves trembled, wishing desperately he could have his arms free if even just to cover the modesty of his own heaving breasts and dusky nipples. He pulled his legs up as close to his chest as he could muster and rested his forehead against them, trying to control the way he was trembling. “F-fuck you.”

“Maybe later,” Grindelwald said in a tone so nonchalant, Graves almost missed it for its meaning. He didn’t bother to react, however. He just kept his face against his knees and forced himself to breathe. To focus on the fact that a woman he may be, but a corpse he was not. While he was still breathing, he could still get free. He could fix this. Magic begets magic; if magic made it so, it could make it un-so.

 _Get a hold of yourself,_ he thought. _It doesn’t matter what you have between your legs. Getting away is your first priority. That hasn’t changed._

So with a steeling breath, Graves raised his gaze from the sanctuary of his soft knees to find Grindelwald standing at the foot of his bed, deftly buttoning up one of Graves’ favorite vests.

“I love this color on you, dearest,” Grindelwald said, eyes on his hands as he pulled the scarlet and black accented vest taut against the masculine lines of his stolen body. “Such a lovely contrast to your skin.”

When Grindelwald turned to look at him, he smiled when he found Graves looking back.

“You’re back,” he praised, fingers working one cuff link into the wrist of his shirt, then the other. “Good girl. Let’s get you ready.”

“Change me all you’d like,” Graves growled, proud of how stern he sounded despite the new pitch of his voice. “But the second you pull me into that ballroom, I’m going to—“

“Percival, are you familiar with one of these?” Grindelwald interrupted excitedly, moving to plop down on the bed beside Graves, one hand extended to present a small, square item pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

It looked like a little plate of metal, but one press of his fingers proved the item was malleable as it bended beneath the pressure of his grasp before springing back into form again. It seemed boringly ordinary if not for the little glowing rune in its middle. Graves blinked as something niggled in the back of his mind.

“No?” Grindelwald asked, then vanished it into his sleeve before leaning forward. “It’s a bomb, magically wired to detonate at my say-so. All it would take is for me to will it for it to be so. They’re small, though. Not significantly dangerous ordinarily...”

Graves felt a pit of dread begin to grow within his belly, slowly spreading.

“But as it so happens, I slipped a few of these into a batch of pastries at a meeting this morning with MACUSA’s top personnel. At least eight individuals have one of these in their bellies, dearest. They’ll pass harmlessly from their system within a day or two, but if you try to talk to anyone tonight and tell them the truth about me or you, if you try to warn anyone or attack me, if you so much as breathe in a manor I don’t like _– I will kill them_.”

Graves’ felt his breath leave his lungs, eyes wide and staring blankly ahead as he tried to come to grips with the fact that for the first time in weeks, he would be in the best situation for escape and he would have to actively not seize the occasion. His eyes began to burn and well, frustrated tears trembling on his lashes. He bit his lip. Grindelwald smiled as that fighting spirit began to bleed out of Graves’ body language, leaving him limp and shivering.

“Good girl.”

With a wave of a hand over each cuff, Grindelwald freed him from the headboard. He tried to ignore how tiny his wrists felt cupped as they were in the large grip of the dark wizard’s hands as he gently smoothed away the bruises he found there.

The thought crossed his mind that now that the cuffs were off, he could use his magic and escape before Grindelwald ever had a chance to get close enough to activate his little bombs. But as though reading his mind, the dark wizard slid first one golden bracelet, then another onto his wrists and in them, Graves felt the familiar hum of magic draining enchantments. He let out a shuddering breath that sent his hair dancing in front of him.

“I’m daring, not daft, dearest,” Grindelwald said, picking up on the man’s disappointment. “I’d hardly do you the insult of underestimating you, even as fragile and lovely as you may look this way.”

Once he was done, Grindelwald drew a little closer – his mouth so close to Graves he could feel the man’s breath as he gently reached up to nudge aside the director’s now loose dress shirt, edging the cloth off slowly until it dropped to expose one slender shoulder and the swell of one newly acquired breast. Grindelwald sucked in a breath through his teeth, and at the sound, Graves averted his eyes in shame and frustration.

“I have such a lovely gift for you, pet,” the man said before suddenly pulling away and turning to stand a few feet away – making the bed jerk with his passing, making Graves jiggle in places he decidedly did not feel comfortable with jiggling in.

Graves resigned himself as the dark wizard pulled free his wand and gently flicked it at him. He closed his eyes and braced himself for another cruel change, only to let loose a shocked gasp at the feeling of fabric suddenly conjuring into place under his breasts, reaching up over his shoulders and around the frail frame of his ribs before finally clasping in place in the back. He had barely a moment to look down and register the development – his breasts sitting plump and high in those scarlet lace cups, his cleavage more noticeable because of it – before a similar feeling swiped across his new sex, twisting around his hips and hugging the soft curve of his pelvis before slipping a thin ribbon between his swollen cheeks.

Just when he thought it was done, Grindelwald outdid himself. In moments, a series of silk black ribbons sprung out from the hem of the panties, winding around his supple thighs and running down to encase his legs in a sheer set of smoky stockings held up by a stark set of lacy garter belts.

Graves felt his cheeks flare into a fierce blush as he reached to grab his loose shirt and tug it tight around himself.

“Now, now,” Grindelwald admonished with another flick of his wand, “None of that.”

The shirt disappeared, leaving Graves in just his underclothing until another burst of fabric sprung to life around him, rippling and shimmering and sliding – pressing the cups of his bra down against his sensitive nipples and tugging tight against his waist – until finally, it stopped.

He was in a dress. Scarlet like rich wine and cut in a way that most respectable women didn’t dare wear in public. It drooped wide over his shoulders and fell lazily to a low droop that left little of his cleavage to the imagination. From there, the shimmering fabric clutched tight at his waist and hips before splitting at one side to expose one long, stocking clad leg topped off with a heel so high, Graves didn’t know how Grindelwald expected him to walk.

He glanced up at Grindelwald with a disgusted look, unaware of the golden jewelry springing to life around his neck and ears, or the little ornamental barrettes slowly pinning his lovely black locks up on his head.

“Perfect,” Grindelwald breathed, eyes manic with glee as he came forward to run one hand along the soft angle of Graves’ jaw before stopping to pinch his chin and tilt his gaze up to meet him. “You’ll be all the rage. Everyone will ask about you – the lovely young filly that finally ensnared the attention of Mr. Percival Graves. Who might she be, to woo such a powerful, stoic man? Lovely, for sure. Powerful. Insightful. A force to be reckoned with. Oh, how they’ll love you,” he whispered, more to himself, before leaning down to speak against Graves’ quivering lips. “And best yet, _they’ll never know how close they were to finding you._ ”

 

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Author's Note:**

> And now, I return to the trash from whence I came.


End file.
